


At the End of the Day

by servantofclio



Series: Maeve Surana [12]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: Surana and Zevran's travels together have their bad days, but at least they have each other.





	At the End of the Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theherocomplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/gifts).



No one ever said it would be easy, carrying out their quests alone.

Not that they always travel alone; they still have comrades-in-arms willing to join them from time to time.

Today, however, they were alone, and today required slogging through a swamp to the ruin that was their destination; fighting off more than the typical number of undead, including not one but two revenants; facing off with a particularly tricksy demon; and in the end, finding nothing of use but one rather tattered grimoire in a particularly obtuse variant of Old Tevene.

And then, of course, having to slog back _out_ through the swamp again. Just the two of them, Maeve Surana and Zevran.

To make matters worse, there is not even a welcoming inn available at the end of the day, with a fire and hot water for bathing if you pay enough, and stew that somebody else made. There is only their own campsite in a sheltered spot outside the swamp.

They pass the last hour through the swamp in silence. Maeve is too busy fuming and pondering what their next step should be, and even Zevran’s habitual cheer runs dry after a day like today. As soon as they reach the camp, Maeve lights a fire with a flick of her fingers, and with another sweep of her arm, sets the wards round the site so that nothing will disturb them in the night.

Zevran is already stripping off muddy boots and gear; she does the same, spreading out her sodden cloak to dry and sighing over the state of their armor and weapons, all of which will require a thorough cleaning.

But, Andraste’s ashes, not now.

Zev ducks into their tent and emerges with fresh robes for both of them, plus a blanket against the chill. Maeve gladly shrugs on the clean clothing and sinks down to sit by the fire with a sigh.

Zev settles silently beside her and then slowly tips over onto his side, pillowing his head in her lap.

Maeve often thinks that she does not really deserve him: all that tenacious, devoted loyalty, still by her side years after their first group of friends have scattered to the winds, made themselves rulers of nations or whispers in the Divine’s ear. They are neither of them as young as they used to be, but Zev has never sought to deter her from any of her quests for lost lore, no matter how trivial they might seem.

She runs her fingers through his hair, long and fine as silk in her hand. Nearly as smooth, but for tangles made by damp and a day’s wear, which she teases apart with her fingers, gently. She finger-combs through his hair until it all runs smooth and soft.

Zev sighs, relaxing in her lap like a cat. “What next, amora?”

“Somewhere with a library,” she says. “But perhaps also somewhere with baths and sunshine.”

“What a civilized notion,” he says.

“Mm.” The mere idea is tempting, as she succumbs to the lassitude of a tired and sore body and the warmth of the fire.

Zevran catches her hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss. “Toward civilization tomorrow, then. But first, a meal and rest, and perhaps we shall find a way to amuse each other, yes?”

“You are the sensible one,” she tells him, laughing, as he flashes her a smile and heaves himself to his feet.

It is not so bad, either, traveling with such excellent company.


End file.
